Ghost Lock Page 3

  “That’s all that was within the safe,” said Markaine. “Just that.”

  A crash echoed through the study as the mercenaries took an axe to the mansion’s front door.

  “We’ve got to get you out of here,” said Martin to me.

  “I agree,” said Caina. “That’s your child. Corvalis’s nephew. We…”

  I felt a surge of irritation. That was how Caina would view my child. Not as my child. Not even as Martin’s child. No, as Corvalis’s nephew. I supposed it made sense. She could not carry a child of her own, and Corvalis was dead. The unborn baby and I were all that Caina had left of Corvalis.

  Perhaps I should not complain. If Caina thought of my child as Corvalis’s nephew first and foremost…then my son would gain an effective protector. For nothing enraged Caina, nothing caused her to forsake mercy the way that a threat to the children of her friends did. Had Rezir Shahan’s men not tried to take the son of the Champion of Marsis as a slave, then the Istarish nobleman might still rule Marsis as an Istarish emirate. If anyone threatened my child, Caina would treat them as she had treated the late, unlamented Rezir Shahan. It was strange that one woman could have done so much. Yet through cunning and bluff, Caina had defeated powerful enemies…

  I blinked.

  Cunning and bluff…

  “Markaine,” I said. “How much heat does that dagger of yours have stored up?”

  “Quite a lot,” he said. “Cutting through that much steel…well, if you want anyone burned alive, I can do it.”

  I nodded. “I have an idea.”

  “We can’t run,” said Caina, “and we can’t fight them.”

  I smiled at her. “No, so I’m going to follow your example. I’m going to bluff. Markaine. Give me that vial.” He handed it to me, an amused smile upon his face. The man was a madman, but I thought I could make use of him. “When I give the word, throw the dagger.”

  He raised his gray eyebrows. “And whom shall I throw it at?”

  “The floor. You’ll know where,” I said.

  “Wife,” said Martin. “What are you doing?”

  I looked at the concern in his gray eyes and smiled. “Do you trust me?”

  “Completely,” said Martin.

  “Then let’s put on a show,” I said, drawing myself up. It was hard to look regal with the pain in my back and the bloated feeling in my midsection, but I did it nonetheless. I was Decius Aberon’s daughter, and he had been the First Magus of the Imperial Magisterium. I knew how to conduct myself with commanding dignity.

  At least, I thought I did. It was time to find out.

  The door to the study burst open, and Khardav and four mercenaries strode inside.

  They came to a stop when they saw us.

  “What,” I said, putting icy hauteur into my voice, “is the meaning of this?”

  Khardav hesitated, and then stepped forward, a wolfish smile on his face.

  “You should be asleep, Lady Claudia,” he said, a thick Ulkaari accent coloring his words.

  “You are a fool,” I said, “and you court destruction.”

  Khardav snorted. “Do I?”

  “Do you really wish to interfere with the business of the Umbarian Order?” I said.

  I gestured and worked a spell of psychokinetic force. I didn’t have enough time to assemble enough power or focus for anything drastic, but the result was like a stiff wind blowing through the study, enough to rock Khardav and his mercenaries back a few steps.

  “We already know you are a magus, Lady Claudia,” said Khardav. “Powerful enough to perform a few tricks, but nothing more.”

  “Indeed?” I said. “Do you also know that I am a magus of the Umbarian Order myself?”

  Martin gave me an astonished look, and Caina blinked.

  “What foolishness is this?” said Khardav.

  “I, Claudia Aberon Dorius, am a magus of the Umbarian Order, sent here by command of the Provosts,” I said. “You are interfering with the business of my Order. I am feeling lenient today, so if you leave at once, I will exact no further retribution.”

  Several of the mercenaries looked at each other, doubt appearing on their faces.

  “Lies,” said Khardav. “We were not hired to kill you, but to take the contents of the safe. No one need die here today. Let us take the safe, and we shall be on our way.”

  “You desire proof?” I said. “Then you shall have it. The Imperial Magisterium, the craven fools, cannot wield the power of pyromancy. The Umbarian Order can. This is your last chance. Leave or you shall see just how much of an Umbarian I am.”

  Khardav snorted. “A bluff.”

  “So be it,” I said, pointing at the floor between Khardav and his men. “Markaine.”

  The black-coated man nodded and flung his black dagger. It struck the stone floor and sank several inches into the ground. For a moment nothing happened, the gem in the pommel’s hilt shining with red light.

  Then the explosion came.

  A blast of fire erupted from the dagger, slamming into two of the mercenaries. It knocked them from their feet, and they rolled back and forth, trying to put out the fire. Khardav looked at me in horror, and Markaine snapped his fingers, the dagger returning to his grasp.

  “How do you imagine,” I said, “Lord Cassander will react when he learns you have interfered with the business of the Order?”

  That did it. Cassander Nilas had something of a reputation.

  Khardav and his men fled, helping their burned comrades along. I crossed to the window and saw them flee across the gardens, vanishing through the gate and into the street.

  A moment the stunned Imperial Guards began to awaken, and I let out a shaking breath.

  “Remind me,” said Markaine, “never to play cards with you, Lady Claudia. That was a most formidable bluff.”

  I looked at Caina. “I learned from the best.”

  ###

  The mansion was in an uproar.

  The Imperial Guards were furious when they awakened, and started sweeping the mansion, searching every nook and cranny. I felt light-headed after the confrontation with Khardav, and Martin took me to the solar, departing to supervise the Imperial Guards.

  Markaine and Caina remained with me as I held the vial of purple liquid in my hands, concentrating my spells upon it.

  “It is definitely an alchemical elixir,” said Caina. “I can sense that much. I’m not sure what it does, though.”

  Markaine shrugged. “I’ve seen elixirs like it before, though I cannot place it.”

  I eyed him for a moment. “You’re not really a painter, aren’t you?”

  He grinned. “Of course I am. I’m the best painter in Istarinmul.”

  “Fine,” I said. “You’re not just a painter, are you?”

  The pale blue eyes flashed a little. “Let’s just say I’m a man who keeps his promises.”

  “Very well,” I said. “Then keep your secrets along with your promises.” I cast another sensing spell, focusing upon the nature of the alchemical sorcery within the elixir.

  “Oh, but I like her,” said Markaine to Caina.

  “We’ve been through quite a lot together,” said Caina.

  There was an understatement.

  Suddenly my spell came into focus, and I understood the nature of the sorcery within the elixir.

  “Oh,” I said, my cheeks coloring with embarrassment.

  “What is it?” said Caina.

  I set the vial gingerly upon the table. “The elixir. It’s not dangerous. It’s not even all that powerful.”

  “What does it do?” said Caina.

  “Well,” I said. “Let us just say…” I considered my words for a moment. “Let’s just say that if Caina or I drank it, it would do nothing at all. But if a man drank this elixir, it would augment his…ah, prowess for a few hours.”

  Both Caina and Markaine stared at me.

  Then Markaine threw back his head and laughed, slapping the table. “You mean we almost killed over some
long-dead necromancer’s elixir of virility?”

  “Then it’s not a weapon of sorcery?” said Caina. She seemed more annoyed than amused.

  “Not in the least,” I said. “We probably did Khardav a favor by scaring him off. Cassander would be furious once he found out he expended all this effort to acquire a useless elixir.”

  “Well, not necessarily useless,” said Markaine, still chuckling, “depending on the state of Cassander’s health.”

  The door opened, and Martin strode into the solar, accompanied by Tylas, the centurion in charge of the Imperial Guards. “The mansion is secure. Once you’ve recovered your strength, I think you should recheck our wards.”

  I nodded. “I shall.”

  “Did you discover what that elixir does?” said Martin.

  “Yes,” I said, and I smiled as a thought occurred to me. “And I think you should send it to Cassander with your compliments.”

  This time Caina did laugh.

  THE END

  Thank you for reading GHOST LOCK. If you liked the story, please consider leaving a review at your ebook site of choice. To receive immediate notification of new releases, sign up for my newsletter (http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=1854), or watch for news on my Facebook page (http://www.facebook.com/pages/Jonathan-Moeller/328773987230189). Turn the page to read the first chapter of GHOST IN THE COWL, Caina Amalas's first adventure in Istarinmul.

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  GHOST IN THE COWL Chapter 1 - Istarinmul

  Two weeks after she lost everything, Caina Amalas stood on the ship’s deck and threw knives at the mast.

  It was a way to pass the time and keep herself from thinking too much. To distract herself from the memories that flooded her mind if she was idle for too long. Sometimes she locked herself in her cabin for hours and performed the exercises of open-handed combat she had learned at the Vineyard long ago, working through the unarmed forms over and over again until every muscle in her body throbbed and spots danced before her eyes.

  But if she stayed alone too long, her thoughts went to the dark places. To New Kyre and the blaze of golden fire above the Pyramid of Storm. To Sicarion laughing as he drove his dagger into the back of the man who had raised Caina. To the Moroaica, weeping as the white fire blazed behind her.

  To Corvalis, lying dead upon the ground of the netherworld.

  And when her thoughts went there, Caina found herself gazing at the veins in her arm, thinking of the knives she carried.

  She retained enough of her right mind to realize that she was not thinking clearly, that her mood was dangerous.

  So when that mood came, she went to the deck and threw knives at the mast.

  At first the sailors were alarmed, but they soon grew accustomed to it. They had been told that she was a mercenary named Marius, a courier for the Imperial Collegium of Jewelers, delivering contracts now that trade between Istarinmul and the Empire had opened up again. An important passenger could be forgiven an eccentricity or two.

  That, and she never missed the mast.

  Soon the sailors ignored her, even without Captain Qalim’s orders. Caina suspected that the sailors would have reacted rather differently if they knew that beneath the disguise “Marius” was actually a twenty-two year old woman, but she did not care.

  She could not bring herself to care about very much.

  So she threw knives at the mast, the blades sinking into the wood. Compensating for the motion of the waves and the wind kept her mind busy. Pulling the knives out of the mast and sharpening the blades anew kept her hands occupied.

  The sailors ignored her, but Caina nonetheless attracted an audience.

  When the Emperor had sent her on a ship from New Kyre’s harbor, she had expected to share the vessel with cargo. Kyracian olive oil, most likely, or perhaps Anshani silk. The Starfall Straits had been closed to trade for nearly a year, and cargoes had piled up in New Kyre’s warehouses.

  She had not, however, expected to share the ship with a circus.

  More specifically, Master Cronmer’s Traveling Circus Of Wonders And Marvels.

  Caina flung another knife, the blade sinking into the mast, and Master Cronmer himself approached.

  Cronmer was huge, nearly seven feet tall, with the shoulders and chest of a titan. He was bald, with a graying mustache cut in Caerish style, and wore a brilliant red coat. She saw the dust on his sleeves, and knew he had eaten bread and cheese for breakfast, along with the vile mixed wine the ship carried.

  “Master Marius,” boomed Cronmer in the Caerish tongue. “You should come work for me.”

  Caina shook her head. “I am already employed.” She made sure to keep her Caerish accent in place, her voice gruff and raspy, as Theodosia had taught her to do.

  “Bah,” said Cronmer. “Fetching papers for those dusty old merchants? You should join my Circus. We’ll use your talent to create a stupendous knife-throwing show, my boy.” He grinned behind his bushy mustache. “Aye, you’ll throw knives at some lusty Istarish lass, your blades will land a half-inch from her skin, and she’ll melt into your arms in the end…”

  “Working for the Collegium,” said Caina, “pays better.”

  Spending the voyage throwing knives at the mast and brooding had likely been a poor idea. A spy needed to remain inconspicuous, and Caina had not bothered to do so. If she was to rebuild the Ghost circle of Istarinmul, she would have to take greater care.

  But she could not bring herself to give a damn.

  “Mere money,” said Cronmer, striking a pose. “What is that compared to the roar of the crowd, of a woman in your arms, of…”

  “Cronmer,” said a woman with a heavy Istarish accent. Cronmer’s wife, a short Istarish woman named Tiri, hurried to his side. She looked tiny next to her massive husband, and they bickered constantly, but they had been married for twenty years and had six children. “Leave the poor man alone. The life of the circus is not for everyone.”

  Cronmer rumbled. “But the Traveling Circus Of Wonders And…”

  “Can’t you see?” whispered Tiri into Cronmer’s ear. Caina heard her anyway. “Can you not see that he has lost someone? Likely when the golden dead rose. Do not pester him.”

  Caina wondered how Tiri had figured that out. On the other hand, Caina had spent the last two weeks throwing knives into the mast and staring into nothing. It was hardly a mystery.

  “Yes, well,” said Cronmer, a hint of chagrin on his face. “If you ever get tired of working for fat old merchants, Master Marius, come see me. The Circus shall be at the Inn of the Crescent Moon for the next week, and then we shall perform before Master Ulvan of the Brotherhood of Slavers.”

  Caina had no wish to visit the home of an Istarish slave trader, but it caught her curiosity. “What does a slaver want with a circus?”

  “A celebration,” said Tiri. “He has been elevated to a Master of the Brotherhood, endowed with his own cowl and brand. Traditionally the newly-elevated Masters throw lavish celebrations, and he has hired the Circus for that purpose.”

  “Just as well,” said Cronmer. “The Kyracian nobles were humorless folk. Too enamored of their own traditions to enjoy the Circus. Well, Master Marius, if you change your mind, the Inn of the Crescent Moon is in the Cyrican Quarter.”

  Caina nodded, barely hearing him.

  “We had best gather the others, husband,” said Tiri, “for we shall put in before noon.”

  Caina blinked and looked over the ship’s rail.

  Istarinmul rose before her.

  She yanked the knives from the mast, returned them to her belt, and walked to the prow.

  The city was huge, larger than New Kyre and almost as large as Malarae itself. The Padishah’s capital occupied a jut of land that almost reached the southern end of the Argamaz Desert. The resultant Starfall Straits gave the Padishah his power. The domains of Istarinmul were far smaller than the Empire of Nighmar or the vast lands ruled by the Shahenshah of Anshan. Yet the Padishah of Istarinmul could close the Star
fall Straits, blocking off traffic from the Cyrican Sea and the Alqaarin Sea, and halt the world’s commerce. Kyracian merchants visited every port in the world, but Istarinmul could close half the world’s ports to the other half.

  And ships from Istarinmul ranged across the seas, buying and selling slaves.

  Even through her apathy, Caina felt a twinge of anger at that.

  But for now Caina gazed at Istarinmul. The city gleamed white from walls whitewashed to reflect the hot sun of the southern lands. In the city’s core rose a massive palace of brilliant white marble, its domes and towers sheathed in gleaming gold. The Golden Palace, where the Padishah sat and governed Istarinmul with his nobles and magistrates. It faced another, slightly larger palace, a towering edifice of white stone and domed towers, gleaming crystals lining its roofs. It was the College, where Istarinmul’s Alchemists carried out their secret studies.

  It was a beautiful building, and the crystals lining the towers gave off a brilliant gleam in the sunlight.

  Caina’s knowledge that the Alchemists transmuted their foes into crystalline statues to forever adorn the walls of the College rather ruined its beauty.

  Cronmer stomped away, shouting commands to his performers. Captain Qalim, a tall man of Anshani birth, spoke to his first mate, who bawled curses and threats as the ship turned toward Istarinmul’s western harbor. Tiri lingered for a moment, gazing at Caina.

  “What is it?” said Caina. “Do you think to recruit me, too?”

  Tiri shook her head. “No. It is just…have you ever been to Istarinmul before?”

  “I have not,” said Caina.

  “Then be careful,” said Tiri. “You are an able-bodied young man, but Istarinmul is a dangerous place for the unwary. If you offend the Alchemists or the emirs, they will kill you. You are Caerish, yes?” Caina nodded. “An emir or an Alchemist can kill a foreigner, and the hakims and the wazirs – ah, the magistrates, they are called in the Empire – would not blink an eye. And do not go alone into strange neighborhoods. The Collectors of the Slavers’ Brotherhood are everywhere, and they often kidnap foreigners and forge the papers of servitude. If you are not careful, you might end up in the mines or pulling oars upon one of the Padishah’s galleys. And the Teskilati, the secret police, have eyes and ears everywhere. If they think you are a spy for the Emperor, they will make you disappear.”